


going, going, gone

by visiblemarket



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Gen, I suppose, non-graphic depictions of the effects of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 20:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Come on,” Poe hissed. “I’m getting you out of here."</i>
</p><p>  <i>Kylo Ren made a slurred, gurgled noise that sounded about halfway between “What?” and “Why?"</i></p><p>  <i>“Great question,” Poe said, back already screaming from having to support the weight of a gigantic, useless child swaddled in what felt like acres of wet black wool. The answer was, of course, that he had no fucking clue.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	going, going, gone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this TFA Kink Meme prompt](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1841.html?thread=1972017#cmt1972017), and (unofficially) inspired by [this textpost](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/136824528492/yuri-puppies-urdnot-i-dont-give-two-shits).

There was an unmistakable, large lump of black fabric on the floor of the cell. Poe’s mind raced: _it’s a trap, don’t go in there, shoot him in the head to be sure and have done with it, go, go, go, get out_ —

“Hey. Hey, _asshole_.” No response. Great. Poe took a step toward him and was pitched forward as the ship listed to its side. Another of the ship’s alarms started shrieking; Poe almost didn’t notice it over the racket his own internal warning bells were making.

He dropped to his knees, scrambling over to the body and flipping it over. The mask was cracked, possibly from a collision or possibly from a blaster shot; Poe didn’t care, didn’t have time to find out either way, tossed it aside. Underneath, it was—yeah, it was exactly who he thought it was. Blood-caked hair, pale face parted by a broad scar ( _nice job, Rey_ ), eyes shut. He was breathing, at least: shallow, wheezing breaths.

Poe shook his shoulders roughly. No response. Of course not.

Oh well. For his own good and all. Poe hauled back and slapped him sharply across the face.

That did the trick: Kylo Ren’s eyes shot open and his body surged up, only to flop back down onto the floor of the cell, like a fish out of water or, more to the point, like a man with a head injury and a gaping, jagged wound pulsing blood through his various layers of clothing and onto the floor.

"Can you walk?” Poe snapped.

Kylo Ren’s eyelashes fluttered sluggishly at him. “Wh—what?” he said, clearly still confused, most likely concussed, which was just what Poe needed. He strangled a groan of frustration.

“ _Can. You. Walk_?”

Kylo Ren just blinked up at him, and Poe rolled his eyes upward, cursed himself, his luck, his parents, and basically any and all positive experiences and influences that had brought him to this place and compelled him to make this choice.

And then he grabbed Ren’s arm, hauled him up from the ground, and ignored the low, muffled moan of pain it elicited. He wrapped an arm around Ren’s waist, jabbed his blaster into the approximate source of all the blood still flowing out of him. Ren’s poorly stifled yelp was not as satisfying as he’d hoped. “Come on,” Poe hissed. “I’m getting you out of here."

Ren made a slurred, gurgled noise that sounded about halfway between “What?” and “Why?"

“Great question,” Poe said, back already screaming from having to support the weight of a gigantic, useless child swaddled in what felt like acres of wet black wool. The answer was, of course, that he had no fucking clue.

*

“Stop right there!” he heard behind him, because of course. That was just the type of thing he needed to hear, only steps away from the last functional escape pods on a doomed ship, while half-carrying, half-dragging the half-dead wannabe Sith Lord he’d decided to rescue. Why not.

He turned around, slowly, forcing Kylo Ren out ahead of him. There were two stormtroopers in front of them; their armor was slightly dinged, but the aim of their blasters was steady. The clean-up crew, Poe assumed: canon fodder left behind to make sure there was nothing of interest left on the ship, before it blew.

Poe sighed. “Okay, look, fellas, I know you don’t want to _shoot_ me—"

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” said Kylo Ren, hazily, and Poe resisted the urge to roll his eyes. But he was right; the blasters trained on his every move showed no signs of hesitation. On the other hand, they hadn’t shot him yet.

Desperate negotiation it was, then.

“Do you know who this is?” he said, nodding at Ren. The stormtroopers didn’t acknowledge him at all, which honestly worked in his favor. “Kylo Ren? Of the Knights of Ren? Your _Supreme Leader’s_ favorite shiny plaything?” Ren made a slightly weepy, indignant sound; Poe jabbed him again, lighter this time, but pointed. “You let us go, or I shoot him,” Poe said, reaching up to force his blaster against Ren’s head. “Might even shoot him anyway. Which one of you wants to explain that to your commander?"

It was difficult gauge the reaction to that, what with the helmets and all, but steady aim of the blasters focused on him seemed to drift, slightly, toward the ground.

“ _Or_ …” he said, and he felt a suddenly renewed amount of attention on him.

“Or?” snapped the stormtrooper on his left, who was maybe an inch or so taller than his cohort; Poe decided to call him “Stretch”, at least for the rest of their association.

“Well—” The ship pitched sharply to the right, nearly throwing the four of them off their feet. The lights flickered off, and the dim back-up lighting hummed to life as Kylo Ren’s body nearly knocked him to the ground; his two new friends reached out to steady each other, and then jolted apart. “Your ship here's almost done for—"

“And whose fault is that, rebel scum?!” snarled the shorter of the two; Stretch waved an arm at him, in an automatic _hush, you_ kind of way. _Ah_ , thought Poe. Yeah, he could work with that.

“Just the four of us here. Just the two escape pods left,” he said, nodding toward them. "Who d’you think the First Order’s gonna be more worried about tracking down, _this_ one,” he sneered, nudging Kylo Ren forward. “Or the two stormtroopers who… _died_...” he emphasized, aiming a significant look at Stretch. “Tryin’ to keep him from getting away?"

Stretch stared at him (Poe hoped; obviously, he could’ve been staring at the wall behind Poe, at Kylo Ren, or, to be honest, closing his eyes and taking a quick power nap to gather up the energy to shoot them both, instead). Poe stared back, doing his best to project cool confidence and just enough world-worn commiseration.

Then Kylo Ren’s knees buckled and Poe had to drop his blaster, and his gaze, in order to steady him. When he looked back up, Stretch gave him a brief nod, lowered his own blaster, and, after another moment of hesitation, took off his helmet, and let it drop to the floor. He looked even younger than Finn, dark-haired and black-eyed, tan skin wan under the ship’s artificial light.

His partner turned toward him and gasped in shock. “ _What are you_ —"

“Come on,” Stretch said, grabbing his arm, and dragging him toward the nearest escape pod. He kicked the door open and pushed his friend in.

“ _But we_ —"

“Shut up,” he called down, sounding almost gleeful, then glanced at Poe, a smile wavering on his face. “We’re getting out of here?”

Poe grinned back. “You’re getting out of here,” he said, would’ve added something even more encouraging, except Kylo Ren chose that precise moment to practically drop into his arms, all forty-so apparent tons of him. Poe almost collapsed under the weight, and looked up to see Stretch actually take a step toward him, as if to help. Boy, he sure knew how to pick them. Or how to randomly run into them, at least. “ _Go_ ,” he said, to Stretch, who threw him a quick salute and then disappeared into his shuttle.

Poe stifled a groan as he felt his vertebra fuse, and wrenched the door open. Scanned it quickly as he dragged Kylo Ren inside: tiny, no division between the cockpit and the passenger bay, which contained four bunks and a couple of bins that he hoped contained rations and medical supplies, or else they were both screwed.

“Roomy,” he couldn’t help but snark, slamming the door shut behind them. One of Kylo Ren’s feet caught around his ankle and almost sent them both sprawling onto the floor. Poe winced as he tried to steady himself, and Ren grunted in pain.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Ren murmured, voice tight and pained.

Poe let himself laugh. “Y’know, everyone's always saying that, I may just start taking it personally."

Ren groaned. “I cannot believe that worked."

“Me neither," said Poe, cheerfully shoving him into a bunk, taking the minimum of care to make sure not to injure him further while buckling him into place, one set of straps over his shoulders, another across his waist, and a third his ankles. “But it never hurts to try.”

“I knew we should’ve gone with clones,” Ren moaned, under his breath.

“Clones are people too,” Poe called back, hurriedly going through the decoupling sequence; he’d learned his lesson on that one.

Ren muttered something else, managing to sound both sullen and delirious. Poe shook his head as the escape pod shuddered distressingly, readying itself for the jump into deep space. He caught sight of the other shuttle streaking in the opposite direction, and had about a second to wish them luck, before the ship exploded around them and sent their pod rolling, ass over tea kettle, into the darkness.

Yeah, Poe thought to himself, gritting his teeth. This had been a terrible idea.

*

“What was it you said to me once?” sneered Kylo Ren, as aloof as a prone, shirtless man with blood-matted hair and a blood-soaked bandage around his torso could be. Which was not much, but Poe had to admit the guy was giving it his all. “Your interrogation technique could use some work?"

“You think this is an interrogation?” Poe did have the man’s blood on his hands, it was true. But that was from cutting through several layers of black fabric, desperately suturing a gushing chest wound with the contents of a truly spartan medkit, and doing his best to mop the resultant mess off the floor. None of which, he felt, was really in his job description. "Buddy, this is a reality check."

“I’m not your _buddy_."

“Okay, _Ben_ ,” he said, holding back a smirk as Ren scowled at him. "The explosion took out the hyperdrive on this thing, and I’m flying on one-and-a-half of four engines. Your First Order friends made sure there was nothing inhabited within less than a three day trip from here. You lost more blood than I’d’ve thought you had in you, and the shuttle’s medkit is almost literally bare bones, so chances are about 50/50 you die before I even get back you to a resistance base. I’m doing my best to keep you alive, here, which is more of a courtesy, frankly, than you gave your father."

“I don’t have a father,” he hissed, eyes narrow and suspiciously shinny.

“No, I know,” Poe said, matter-of-fact. “Because you murdered him."

Kylo Ren huffed at him, and rolled over to face the wall, no doubt straining the wounds Poe had done his honest best to close, or possibly tearing them open again; Poe couldn’t really find it in himself to care, not even for his ruined handiwork.

*

“We’d met before, you know?” Poe said, casually; about a day had passed, and Kylo Ren still wasn’t speaking to him, but he’d finally sat up, and was eyeing the meal pack Poe had thrown at his head like he might deign to open it. “I mean, before the whole…mind-fuck thing." There wasn’t much of a reaction to that; maybe slightly less of a glower, or maybe Poe was imaging things. "You probably don’t remember. It was a long time ago. You were a lot less…” Poe made a broad, sweeping hand gesture, meant to encompass the sheer seize of the man, his multitude of sins, and his truly unpleasant personality. “… _this_."

Ren’s face contorted sourly, and his gaze dropped. “Yavin 4,” he said, eventually, and Poe tried to ignore the swift punch of fear to his stomach. “I remember."

“Good,” Poe said, keeping his tone steady. “Because I do too. And that’s the only reason you’re still alive.” He sighed, and leaned back into his bunk, closing his eyes; it wasn’t like he could really sleep, not around Kylo Ren, but it did his spine some good not to spend every minute hunched over the controls of the ship. He ran a hand through his hair. "Well, that, and because the general seems to think there’s still some good left in you. Force knows why."

"That’s why you’re doing this?” He looked over. Ren was staring at him, something strange and unsettling (more so than usual, anyway) simmering in his eyes. “My _mother_?”

“ _General Organa_ —"

“You’re not really her _type_ , you know,” he sneered, and Poe resisted the urge to smack him again.

He stood up instead, thighs twinging at the effort, and smirked down at him. “Haven’t you heard, _Ben_?” he said, and winked. “I’m everybody’s type."

*

“I could kill you, you know."

Poe glanced back; Kylo Ren was standing behind him, looking unsteady and at least a decade younger, with a blanket draped around his bare shoulders. The bandage around his torso was clean; had been, all day, which was a good sign, but his hands were trembling.

Poe sighed, and nodded toward the co-pilot’s seat. “Sit down."

“Did you hear me?” Ren said, tone wavering between petulance and disbelief.

“Yeah, did you hear _me_? Because look, if you fall over, I’m not dragging your ass back to bed. Just gonna leave you there on the floor. Step right over you on my way out."

Ren huffed, but—to Poe’s surprise—actually slouched into the seat beside him. Poe could feel the concentrated power of his glare against the side of his neck.

“So?” he said, calmly.

“ _So_?” Ren snapped. “So _what_?"

“So, what’s stopping you? From killing me, I mean. If that’s really what you want to do."

Ren had no answer to that. Just stared straight ahead, wrapped in that thin grey blanket, glowering at the stars.

“Where are you taking me?” he said, finally.

“Neutral territory. We’re being met by a medical convoy.” Because like hell he was taking a First Order ship straight into a resistance stronghold, but also, he wasn’t about to inflict Kylo Ren on an entirely innocent medical population.

“Will my—will the general be there?"

“I don’t know,” Poe answered, honestly. “I sent out a transmission. Haven’t received a response.”

“And what did that... _transmission_ say?"

“That in a final sweep of a First Order prisoner transport ship we were liberating, I found you, in a cell, bleeding out. Left for dead, apparently.” He snuck a peripheral glance toward Ren; his gaze had dropped to the control panel in front of him, and his fingers were twitching, like he might want to reach out and touch something. “You ever fly one of these before?"

Ren’s head jerked up, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t've. “No,” he said, and got up as haughtily as he could, given the blanket around his shoulders.

Poe sighed, and let his focus shift back to the stars.

*

It took another four hours to get to the drop-off point, a tiny, insignificant moon full of nothing but scrubby brush, red earth, and an outpost that made Niima look like a hub of metropolitan sophistication.

He was asleep when they arrived. The blood in his hair had crusted, leaving brown flakes on the thin pillows; the bruises on his shoulders had begun to fade, and the wound in his side had long since stopped bleeding. He looked a mess, of course, but slightly less of one than when Poe’d found him.

“Hey,” Poe said, kneeling beside his bunk. He didn’t stir. Poe rolled his eyes, and lightly grasped his shoulders. “Ben.” There was a large hand was around his wrist, suddenly, and a set of wide, dark eyes fixed on his. Poe met his gaze with a steady look.

“Did we make it?” he said, voice soft and strange.

Poe nodded. “Yeah."

His lips twitched, as if trying to remember how to smile. His eyes searched Poe’s face. “What else?"

Poe dipped his head toward the open door of the shuttle. “Your mother’s outside."

His grip on Poe’s wrist tightened. “Oh,” he said, and didn’t seem otherwise inclined to move.

“Come on,” Poe sighed, and dragged him, yet again, to his feet. “Let’s get out of here."

*


End file.
